


Blood and Iron

by Carabesh



Category: Klaus (2019)
Genre: Blood and Injury, But doesn't have to, Can be read as slash, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Whump, and will stay a one shot, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21964810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carabesh/pseuds/Carabesh
Summary: He walked quietly.The snapping and clanking of metal was sudden and unexpected. The pain was immediate and soaring.Jesper screamed.
Relationships: Jesper Johanssen & Mogens
Comments: 13
Kudos: 185





	Blood and Iron

Jesper became desperate in his attempt to get letters. 

He had talked to anyone within and outside of the town. Or rather he talked to them while he was mostly ignored. The Krums and Ellingboes were less than chatty when it came to outsiders. Alva and Mogens did banter with him, but they also came from the outside. No part of the families.

He had scavenged every part of the town down to even the smallest building and the last person. And when the town had exhausted itself on possible prospects he went out further into the outskirts. He searched the coast and the snowed in fields for anything. He wasn't even sure himself any more what he was looking for.

And when the coasts of the western peninsula came up empty handed he focused on the eastern peninsula and its forested area. He had spent the better of the day trying to find anything of worth there that could justify talking about postal service. He found nothing but trees creaking and swaying in the wind and the occasional reindeer vanishing in the woods as soon as spotted.

At this rate he would have to spent the rest of his life in this miserable place.

Jesper groaned.   
The cold wind was biting at his nose and ears. His fingers were stinging and a constant shiver was starting in his knees whenever he stopped moving. This was for naught. He had only been in Smeerensburg for a little bit more than a month but he was already feeling as crazy as the locals. Going out each day, trying to find a single letter, just one person willing to write something and pay a penny to have it delivered to someone else.

No surprise he was a regular source of amusement for Mogens.

Jesper tried not to think about it too hard. The wind gushed and howled, biting at him. This was going nowhere. He turned to head back home. Or at least the post office, he was still reluctant to call the shack his new home. Whatever, it was his destination.

He walked quietly.  
The snapping and clanking of metal was sudden and unexpected. The pain was immediate and soaring.  
Jesper screamed.

\---

It was a good morning for Mogens.  
The sun was shining brightly, the sky was a perfect grayish-blue and the distant scream of the old Krum in his rocking chair was vibrant enough to have been mistaken for a roosters crow. Smeerensburgers were waking up and getting ready to hate each other.  
It was a perfect day to check up on a spoiled rich postman.

“Good morning to you! How are we doing? Any letters you need shipped out today?” he joked as he slammed the upper part of the door open. His only answer was the clucking of some chickens minding their business. His eyes roamed around, looking for the twig figure of the postman. Nowhere.

He snorted. “Heavy sleeper, or what? Was yesterday too long?! You need to catch up on some sleep?!” Mogens shouted upwards the ceiling in direction to the bedroom.  
“The work won't do itself, just so you know! I think I will give myself a tour! See what you have accomplished so far!” He let himself in. The door scraped across the floor and left a few more additional markings in the wood.

He roamed around, faking interest into the places missing decoration and the few pieces of furniture that existed. He stopped in front of the letterbox with its many alphabetical sections. Not a single letter but a lot of chickens nesting there. As usual.

“Tell me,” he softly spoke to one of the hens. “Did he cry himself to sleep that he isn't up yet? Was yesterday just so tragic that he couldn't help it?” The chicken cooed.  
“Heh, knew it.”

He inspected the table. Pencils with broken points were scattered across on top of blank papers and empty envelopes. Seal stamps lay on the edges, some already fallen to the floor.  
“What a mess. Do you always work like this?”  
No one answered him. For a moment Mogens pondered if the postman had gotten the better of him and already left for the town. And he was standing here, in the middle of an empty building talking to the chickens. 

Whatever. He would eventually meet him in the town where he could comment on his latest attempts with the inhabitants. The chickens scurried out of his path towards the door when he heard a rustling and moaning from above him, followed by a scratching sound. A cheeky smiled spread on his face.  
“So you are home.”

His expectant look turned to the stairway. He jammed his hands to his hips and gave a rather growling laugh. “Could have fooled me! Why didn't you say so?”

Nobody came down the stairs. No more sounds were made, only the soft cackle of chickens.  
“Do I have to come up and get you? The day isn't getting any younger!”  
More silence followed.  
Then a rattling sound followed by scraping and a muffled groaning.

Mogens started to dislike the situation. A dire feeling began to creep up his spine as he stepped closer to the narrow stairway.  
It's been a while since he last been in the upper parts of the building. The wooden planks were even more dislodged and splintered than he remembered. The constant in- and out-flux of postmen was taking its toll on the building itself. No one here long enough for serious repairs. No one here to really care about the condition of the small hut.   
No one here long enough to take care of the gnawing teeth of father time.

The boards creaked under his weight, some even dangerously so and he had to recall that the building was only supported by some wooden logs in awkward positions. Simply jammed into the frozen ground since nobody had the time to set up a proper groundwork.   
The boarded walls were brittle and barely offered protection against the howling wind from the cliffs. The cold managed to creep into the shack from seemingly everywhere.

One step gave an ominously loud crack and Mogens eyed it with strained caution. Deep scratches and dents were on the edge. They looked fresh, like something only recently bumped and dragged across them.  
Then he noticed the dark splotches.  
Some smaller, some larger. A dark reddish-brown, almost not distinguishable from the usual colouration of the wood. They trailed up the stairway in an oddly pattern. He scratched at one.  
The substance came of in small flakes and continued to stick to his fingertips.

It was blood. Dried blood.

He looked back at the floor. Around the door and near the table with the fallen stamps. More blood. And scratches, like something had been dragged. Knowing what to look for they were easy to spot.

“You alright, kid? I'm coming up.” he tried to downplay the worry in his tone. He almost managed.

More rustling.   
Something heavy landing on the floor.  
And a pained yell.

Mogens ran up the stairs. The building creaked in protest. He rounded the corner to the bedroom, no door to keep out the cold.

Jesper was on the ground; half sitting, half lying, shaking and quietly gasping, eyes tightly shut – his right leg awkwardly drawn to his body as much as possible.  
And on his leg, right between his heel and his calf an old and partly rusty iron jaw trap. Its sharp teeth biting right through his high boots and his pants.  
Jesper drew in a deep breath and finally his eyes opened, landing on Mogens.

“I can't get it off”, he wheezed out, as Mogens stepped closer.  
“Can't open it.” he pressed further. Mogens kneeled besides him, examining the situation.  
“Let me see it”, he demanded. Jesper sucked in another gasp and let his head roll onto the dishevelled sheets of his bed. Agonizingly slow he stretched his injured leg out. The bolts and studs of the trap rattled with each tiny move and Jesper made another painful groan.

Carefully Mogens grasped his leg and elevated it above the floor.  
Jesper choked. “It's heavy.”  
Mogens placed his leg back on the floor, softly -  
Funny, he thought to himself.  
He couldn't remember the last time he had actually been so tentative with another person.   
He would ponder it later.

The fabric of the pants was torn were the trap had snap shut. Dried blood coated the seams and trails ran down the leather fabric of the boot. Even through the gaps in the cloth Mogens could see the angry red flesh where the iron had ripped into skin and muscle. 

“How long?” he asked, still eyeing the wound.  
“Wha-?”  
“How long has the trap been on your leg?” his fingers pried at some loose parts of the fabric, making Jesper suck air in sharply. Mogens stopped. He could feel the heat radiating off the wounded area.

“I don't know.” Jesper wheezed. “Was yesterday. I think – I - “ his head buried deeper into the sheets. “Don't remember. Don't know... -” another gasp. “Don't know how long it took to get back. Was dark already.” He stifled a whimper.  
“Okay, okay.” Mogens leaned over him and patted his shoulder.  
“Listen. I will take you to the town. I can help you. We -”  
“No.” Jesper pressed.   
“No moving. Moving hurts. Everything hurts. I can't move.” He turned his head and looked at Mogens. His eyes glassy and red. Unfocused.  
“Please.  
Please just get it off.”  
Mogens swallowed a lump in his throat he didn't even feel before. Never felt before.  
The pleading was desperate. Jesper trembled beneath his touch. Mogens could almost taste the fear and despair in the air between himself and Jesper.  
He looked back at the mangled leg.  
Bloody. Torn flesh. Possibly broken.

Would the kid even be able to properly walk again?

Would he only cause more harm by helping him now?

Did he have it in himself to leave him like this, even if it meant to get help?

He wanted to smack himself just listening to his own rambling thoughts. He was in Smeerensburg. No help here unless one was a part of the local families.  
Right now, he was the kids only hope. His only chance.

If he wouldn't help, who would?

His gaze wandered back up to Jespers face and his entreating eyes.  
“Alright”, he muttered. “Alright. Just let me prepare what I need.”  
He scanned the room, looking for something that could be of aid. Anything.  
Sheets and cloth. A spare uniform. Not much else.  
Not much help.  
He would need something sturdy to open the trap.  
But maybe-

“Listen kid. I need some tool to get this off.”  
Jespers delirious gaze locked on him. Mogens wasn't even sure if he understood him. But he couldn't pry the trap open with his bare hands. He would be back.  
“I'll look downstairs for something to help me, okay? It will only be a moment-” but he couldn't finish.  
Jesper had already grasped his hand in a firm hold. The kid was shaking badly now.  
Fear and pain radiating off him like a trapped animal.  
It was hard to stomach, hard to watch.

“Please don't leave.”  
Jesper was on the edge of hysteria. His breathing short and erratic. God, the kid must be scared. Probably more than in his entire life. And all he had right now was Mogens.  
And Mogens-

His throat was dry. His lips cracked.  
He felt completely in over his head.  
This was nothing he usually dealt with.  
Nothing he was ever trained for.  
Nothing he would ever think someone would ask of him.

Was this the dire feeling of desperation? Of trust in a last instance?  
It felt like the rambling thoughts of a dying man, eager to grasp for anything that promised life.  
Or at least, relief.  
He was a sailor, but a miserable anchor for a person. God, the kid kept looking at him with those pleading eyes.  
He swallowed again.

And made a decision.

Mogens firmly clasp Jespers shoulder and answered his searching eyes. He was the only thing, the only person, that mattered to the kid right now. And if the kid needed re-ensuring, maybe some of it would rub onto him as well.  
“I'll look downstairs for a tool to open the trap with. I'll be back in less than a minute.  
I promise”, Jespers eyes glassed over, but Mogens didn't dare to break contact with them.  
“I won't leave you.  
I'll help you.”

And Jesper nodded in understanding. He let go of Mogens hand, falling back against the wooden frame of the bed.   
Mogens wasted no time. He bolted down the stairs and ignored the creaking, almost stumbling over a chicken that kept pecking at something at the bottom. No time for that.  
He needed a tool. Something sturdy and hard, something long and enduring. Like a - 

Like a fire iron.   
The old furnace in the corner. Coated in grime and dust. The hatch almost torn off and hanging loose. But the iron tools to work the fire and clean out the place were still there.  
They would do.  
They had to do.

He grabbed the poker and the dart. The only tools around long enough to offer aid. And he dashed back up.  
Back to Jesper.  
The tools clacked against each other in his grasp. He silently prayed the would be strong enough. That they wouldn't bend. Or even break.  
No doctors in town, or healers. That kid was in for something.

Why did he have to find him?

Why did he feel so responsible suddenly?

Later.

Work now. Thoughts could come afterwards.

He was back up again. The kid hadn't moved, still in that uncomfortable position on the floor with his leg spread. His arm flung over his face, blocking everything from his view. Mogens kneeled besides him, dropping the tools. His hands were shaking. His mind was rambling.   
What next?  
How to proceed?  
Did he need more?  
What afterwards?

He took a deep breath.  
He noticed Jesper peeking under his arm. His eyes now strangely focused on him. He could see the remnants of dried tears on his cheeks.  
And it was suddenly clear to Mogens what had to come next.

“I'm going to open it now.” No try. No attempt.  
He had to open the trap. Right now, right here.

Jesper only breathed out a silent “okay”, and buried himself back in the sheets. Probably biting down on them. It was for the best.  
If the kid started bawling, he might bail.

Mogens inspected the trap one last time, looking for loose hinges or indications of weakness in the material.  
Jespers leg was in a sloped grasp in the iron jaw. The teeth biting into the sides of his calves and parts of the shin. Lucky for him the trap was large enough that his foot hadn't been caught. Might have crushed the toes, if not downright severed them. This injury could have been so much worse.

He grabbed the poker and inserted it into the trap behind the leg. Then the dart in front of it. He accidentality grazed the wound. Jesper twitched.  
“Sorry.” A muffled “mmh” was is answer. Carefully with the wider end until both tools were lined up with the leg. He gave Jesper one last look. The kid wasn't facing him.

“Okay, all in position”, he licked his lips in anticipation.  
“On three, I will force the trap open. But you'll have to move your leg out of it, okay? I don't know how long I can hold it open.”  
The kid didn't respond. Only ragged breathing.  
“You understand me kid? You will have to move your leg.”  
Jesper nodded, his hands clasping on his knee.  
Mogens felt his heart pounding. A chill ran down his back. His hands grasped the wooden handles of the tools and around the jaws of the trap.

“Okay. One. Two-  
Three!”

Mogens put his entire force and weight in his arms. The hinges cringed and clacked. Then they started to open.  
Jesper made an agonizing groan as his leg was slowly relieved of the pressure. Fresh blood started flowing again from the previously clotted wound. Down his leg and on the floor boards.  
Mogens kept his hold firm on the handles. He couldn't slip. Blood now on his hands and fingers. Making them wet and slick.

How deep was the wound truly?

The trap wasn't even halfway open.

Could one bleed out from such an injury?

Shit, what if the kid died on him?

Then, the kid gave a small sob. More of a gasp. Awful and dire.  
Mogens didn't look up. He couldn't lose focus. This was too important.  
“Stay with me, kid.” Was all he managed to press out. The trap opened more.  
Inch after inch. Slow and steady.  
Mogens felt beads of sweat on his forehead. More blood. Mogens grit his teeth.  
He pushed with the entire force of his body. He could feel how the trap scraped against the palms of his hands, even through his gloves. Old yet still sharp enough.   
Mogens grunted. His back would give him hell tomorrow.  
Jesper was eerily silent now. Mogens just hoped the kid was still conscious enough to move. He couldn't hold down the trap and get the leg out at the same time. The trap would still be active, even if opened.  
God, if it snapped now-

He didn't dare finish the thought.

And then-

His fists slammed against the floor. A loud clicking echoed in the room. He presses the wooden handles against the iron ridges of the trap.

It was open. He didn't let go.

“Kid! Now!” He hissed through clenched teeth.  
Jesper didn't respond. He didn't move.  
Mogens panted.   
Hell -   
In his mind Mogens swore in such a way that even his mother wouldn't look at him again. This couldn't be happening now.  
He glanced up, at Jesper. And cursed out loud.

The kid was pale. His skin ashen, almost as white as snow. His breathing was shallow. Mogens could barely make out the rising and falling of his chest. Jespers eyes were closed. His arms uselessly by his sides.   
“Kid!” No response.  
“Jesper!” Nothing.  
Out cold. And fading fast.

Mogens eyes dashed across the room. Looking for help, for anything. Nothing was there. No one would come. He huffed nervously. Maybe he could move the trap across the floor and away from the leg. Maybe he could-  
He stared at the trap in his hands.  
All thoughts and ideas were smothered by shock.  
A puddle of blood.  
He was kneeling in a puddle of red, warm blood. It licked at his pants and slowly kept soaking them.

Oh, hell no.

Mogens felt panic rising in his throat. He needed time to think. He needed time to plan what to do. He didn't have time.  
Jesper was bleeding out right in front of him.  
He made a decision and blew caution to the wind.

Mogens jerked at the trap and pulled it towards him.  
It clanked and scraped across the wooden boards, dragging Jespers leg along. Mogens crouched a step back and pulled again. The trap followed, now only holding onto Jespers heel.  
One last step.   
He pulled again.  
And finally the leg was free.

Mogens flung it across the room. It slammed into a wooden box and clamped shut again. Mogens stared at it for a second.   
He let out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding in.  
He felt light-headed. His arms and hands were shaking. He looked at them. They were coated in blood.  
The kid. Jesper.

He was lying there, slumped on the bed. Passed out and still bleeding.  
Mogens scuffled over to him. Grasping his shoulders and giving him a light shove.   
“Jesper. Wake up.”  
Nothing.  
“Shit-”, Mogens crouched back down to the leg. The area of the fabric around the cut was dark and wet.

Too much blood. And too fast.   
He had to stop the circulation for now.  
He hastily stood up. His knees creaked in protest. Another body part that would give him hell tomorrow. He grabbed the spare cloth from a shelf along with the uniform and was back on the floor again. He began to wrap it around the wound. The white was immediately soaking through with red.  
He yanked the belt from the extra uniform and examined it quickly. It had holes punched into its entire length. It would do.  
He fastened the belt below the knee and pulled. Tighter and tighter. He clamped it shut, silently praying it would help. 

Mogens collapsed against the bed. The hard frame poking into his back. Sweat had gathered on his brow and around his neck. He wiped it his arm. Not his hands. Still bloody. He breathed hard.   
Only forenoon and he was ready to crash back into his own bed.   
And shit-  
the kid.

Jesper was awfully pale. Mogens edged closer. He pressed the back of his hand against the kids neck. It felt cold and clammy. But he could feel the pulse underneath the skin. He moved his hand under his nose and felt short, hot breaths escape.  
Still alive. Mogens intended to keep it that way.

He got up.

\---

Jesper awoke to the sound of crackling fire and a chair scraping across wood.

The air smelled stuffy, like salt and fish. With the odd undertone of alcohol.

His head pounded and sweat clung to his body. His right leg burned and throbbed with a deep ache.

He felt weak.

He wanted to fall asleep again, but something kept him from it for now. He moved his head.   
And saw Mogens eyeing him with caution.

“Hey”, Jesper breathed.  
“Hey back.” Mogens raised a tankard and took a swift gulp. That explained the smell of alcohol.  
“Where am I?” Jesper let his eyes roam his surroundings.

The room was small and stuffed with different things. Shelves cluttered with old books and paper. Maps of different islands hanging from the walls, along with a fishing net that had been ripped up from use. In the back of the room was a small stove, burning brightly.

“You're in my shack. Down by the docks.” Mogens put his drink down and set it on the table besides the bed.   
“Brought you here after you passed out. You lost a lot of blood.”

Right. The jaw trap. For a moment he had been blissfully unaware. Now it all came back. He groaned. Mogens gave him a sympathetic look.  
Jesper watched him through half-lidded eyes.   
“You took me to your house?”  
“Couldn't just leave you there, kid.” Mogens grumbled and rose from the chair. He walked over to the stove and grabbed something from it. Jesper wasn't able to see what he did, but most likely preparing something.  
“Believe me. My cold soul just wanted to be done with it and leave you to it. But my poor heart just couldn't do it.” Mogens slowly walked back. His gaze lingered on something on the floor and Jesper crooked his head in an attempt to see what it was. No luck.

“I can already tell you that you will have some serious cleaning on your hands when you get back to the post office. As I said, a lot of blood. In your bedroom and some of it came down through the cracks into the office area.”   
He was back at the bedside, a steaming mug in his hands. He pushed it towards Jesper.   
He grasped it with shaking hands.  
“Wait”, Mogens grabbed a pillow from the side of the bed and pushed his hand behind Jespers back, elevating him. He stuffed the pillow between Jespers neck and the headboard. Now he could drink without spilling the content of the mug on himself.  
He raised it to his lips and blew on it.  
The steam continued to dance around his nostrils. The stench of a herbal mixture. He took a small sip. His face scrunched. It tasted disgustingly bitter.

“I know, but it will help you. Heal you from the inside, you know.” Jesper only nodded.  
He was still processing it all.  
He took another sip. The warmth of the drink helped. Flooding is mouth and down into his empty stomach.   
He looked down his body. His right leg was raised by what felt like a bunch of cloth and more pillows. Uneasiness gnawed at the back of his mind.   
What if-

Mogens gave a sigh, reading the dismay in Jespers face.  
“Try to move your toes. But beware. It'll hurt. But nothing was broken.”  
Jesper took a deep breath and huffed. He'd have to try eventually.

He concentrated on his foot and wiggled his toes. They moved. At the same time a pang ran through his leg. He sucked in air, his brow scrunching together.  
“It'll heal alright”, he felt Mogens patting his shoulder. The mug was taken from his grasp. It joined the tankard on the table.  
Jesper let his head fall back on the pillows.  
He was tired. So very tired.

He felt a rough hand on his cheek, slowly caressing it.  
“Go back to sleep.”  
Jesper obeyed.

The darkness edged closer, he could feel himself drifting in it. The pain became distant.  
What a horrible day.

But he had encountered compassion, even in a cold place like this. It gave him a strange spark of hope.  
His hair was being ruffled. He sighed.   
“Mogens?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Thank you.”  
“It's alright, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for coming to read this fic  
> Sad to tell you that this is it  
> Grab your hat and head for the door  
> In case you didn't notice, there ain't any more!  
> If you like it tell ev'ryone but  
> If you think it stinks, keep your big mouth shut!  
> I'm glad you came but I have to shout  
> Adios, au revoir, wiedersehen, ta-ta-ta  
> Goodbye, get lost, get out!  
> It's over!  
> (Goodbye! - The Producers, sligthly altered)


End file.
